


All I Need

by soracia



Series: Everything [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Past, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slice of Life, angsty fluff, implied/referenced suicide attempt - past, past severe fuckedupness of various kinds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:30:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soracia/pseuds/soracia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Grantaire has been shut up in his studio for two whole weeks and Enjolras is trying to deal with the frustration of knowing that once he finally gets home, he'll be drained and exhausted and won't have slept or eaten or anything for far too long. He really hates it when Grantaire does this. When he gets home, Enjolras is going to cuddle the shit out of him. Not that he'd use those words, of course.</i>
</p><p>[Enjolras and Grantaire have a slightly fucked up mutually obsessive relationship, but they have a system that works. Or, the established-relationship domestic fluff verse with a great deal of past angst and fuckedupness of various kinds, which was supposed to be merely a short ficlet and is now decidedly not, and shall continue to be updated sequentially with more fluff than angst, but definitely a great deal of both in and around their careful, hard won balancing act of domesticness.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maharlika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharlika/gifts).



> Unbetaed, just a quick little ficlet. Prompt from the lovely [flutterings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterings) for cuddling and fluff, due to a distressing incident with deathfic which made us both cry. This is all for you, m'love. Hope it's what you wanted! ♥

_How can I stand here with you,_  
 _And not be moved by you?_  
 _Would you tell me,_  
 _How could it be,_  
 _Any better than this?_

_Cause you're all I want,_  
 _You're all I need,_  
 _You're everything, everything._

_~ Lifehouse - Everything_

 

It was highly hypocritical of him, Enjolras knew, but he positively hated it when Grantaire had a project, a commission or something else that kept him in the studio for days on end, barely eating or sleeping until he was done working, keeping himself going on caffeine and stimulants and god knows what. 

It wasn't like he could talk, he was just as obsessive when he was working, but it still grated on him in ways he didn't like to know that his boyfriend wasn't taking care of himself, would come stumbling back in whenever he was finally done with red-rimmed eyes and uneven steps, weariness in every line of him. 

The sight of him like that made something very unpleasant shriek across Enjolras' nerve endings, made him frown and want to snarl and hurt something. It was wrong, Grantaire should never look like that, so wrung out and exhausted, and he didn't care how big of a hypocrite it made him, he couldn't stand it. 

But neither could he complain about it all that much, because there were few things that made Grantaire happier than his art, and Enjolras would feel like the worst sort of person if he tried to come between them or force him to cut back on it or change his process, especially since he had no intention of letting Grantaire do that to him when it came to his own work. 

To be fair, Grantaire had never tried, though Enjolras knew he worried and would often feel his eyes on him, watching him with resignation when he felt that Enjolras was being excessive about something, but he respected the fact that there were some things Enjolras found more important than food and sleep, and it would be churlish of him not to give back that same respect. 

So, he tried his damndest never to interfere, but afterwards, once Grantaire was home again and free for the moment, he made up for it by making sure that Grantaire got sufficiently caught up on all the things he'd been shorting himself on. 

He always tried to make sure he was home when he knew Grantaire was going to be finishing something, which wasn't easy given his own commitments, but having Grantaire out of his sight, out of reach for so long and knowing that he wasn't taking care of himself made him edgy and restless enough that he wasn't much good at what he was supposed to be doing anyway, so he made the considerable effort to move heaven and hell and make sure that once Grantaire finally surfaced again, Enjolras would be there at home to meet him. 

He'd never thought that he would end up like this, in a relationship like this with such an obsessive need for another person, with someone he loved and wanted so much it drove him to distraction, someone that he really couldn't live without, even when it meant he wasn't completely and solely dedicated to his work anymore. He'd always thought he couldn't afford to allow himself a relationship like this, had never even considered it a possibility that he might want one, but he'd eventually had to admit that where this one person was concerned, he couldn't afford _not_ to, either. 

Grantaire had crashed into his life, his well-ordered carefully controlled world like a tidal wave, seeming like chaos incarnate, loud and argumentative and frustrating and fascinating and complex, irresistible in the end, though admittedly he'd tried his hardest to resist for a long time. It had taken them ages to get to the point where he'd finally admitted that this was something he wanted, something he _needed_ , even if he'd resented it at first. 

Once he'd finally given up and given in to it though, it had become as necessary as breathing, and he couldn't imagine how he'd ever thought he could deny it. Couldn't remember how he'd lived without it, and he was just grateful that Grantaire didn't seem to hold it against him, how long it had taken him to figure this out, didn't mind him doing an about face and becoming obsessively protective and possessive. 

Which wasn't to say it had all been easy, because they'd had to learn to balance their differences and give each other space for things like wildly divergent opinions, very different habits, and the time they each took for working on their respective projects. It had taken time, but they had eventually worked out a mostly comfortable give and take that was, if not entirely an easiness, at least a routine, fitting into and around each other's spaces. 

One or the other of them would sometimes vanish into their work for a while, and the other would be there waiting when they were done to pick them up in their exhaustion and make sure they got everything they needed, and it was a relief to them both to have that time to reconnect and reassure each other and of course, make sure the one who'd been working himself into the ground was alright. 

The current project had taken longer than most, almost two whole weeks, and as he waited on the last day, Enjolras was nearly vibrating with tension by the time he heard the door. He was out of his chair and across the room in an instant, there in time to catch the door as it swung open and reach for his boyfriend as he shuffled in, smiling tiredly at Enjolras when he saw him. 

"Hey," he said, his voice rough and scratchy with disuse and lack of sleep, and, Enjolras thought as he eyed him critically, dehydration. 

"You idiot," he growled, frowning as he pulled Grantaire in and shut the door with rather more force than necessary, feeling the familiar anger surge at the sight of the man he loved in such a state. Grantaire merely smiled sleepily at him, long used to the fact that him being so run down made Enjolras particularly snarly. 

"You're beautiful," he said almost dreamily, rather out of it with sleep deprivation, and Enjolras growled in the back of his throat in frustration as he dragged his lover in for a hard hug, arms wrapped tight around him with something like desperation. 

"I hate it when you do this," he snarled, burying his face in Grantaire's hair, the other man's face tucked in against his shoulder, and just holding on for a long minute, rocking him back and forth a little. 

"Mmm," Grantaire agreed, because they both hated seeing each other like this, and they both knew they would keep doing it anyway, because their work was important to them and neither of them would be the people they were without it. "You smell good," he mumbled, nuzzling the side of Enjolras' neck and pressing a kiss there. 

Enjolras made a sound of helpless frustration, fisting a hand in the curly dark hair and dragging Grantaire's head up for a fierce, hard kiss, deep and desperate with need and hunger and relief. Grantaire melted against him and kissed him back as well as he was able, content to let Enjolras take control of it and ravage his mouth. 

When they finally broke apart, breathing hard, Enjolras rested his forehead against Grantaire's and just leaned there for a minute, holding tight and letting all the jagged pieces inside of him slowly settle with the knowledge that Grantaire was home and safe and they were together again, and everything was going to be fine. 

"I missed you," he admitted softly. 

"I know," Grantaire told him gently, reaching up to brush his cheek with the back of one paint-stained finger, tender and affectionate, and Enjolras sighed. 

"Come on," he said, pulling away just far enough to wrap an arm around his lover's waist, guiding him in to the lounge and steering him toward the couch. "Let's get you fixed up." 

Grantaire sank into the soft cushions of the couch with a grateful sigh, tipping his head back to rest against it and watching Enjolras with a fond, sleepy smile as he went into the kitchen to retrieve the glass of water and a sandwich he'd prepared earlier, bringing them back and handing over the water, setting the sandwich down within arm's reach. 

"Drink all of that," he ordered sternly, "then eat while I get you some more." The dehydration worried him the most, really; it was the one thing that would wear your body down faster than any of the rest of it, aside from perhaps the sleep deprivation. He hovered for a minute, a little anxious as he watched Grantaire obediently drinking it down, surveying him with worried eyes to see what else he might need. 

He didn't see anything that a shower and a decent amount of sleep wouldn't fix, once the water and food were taken care of, and finally relaxed a bit, sighing in relief as Grantaire finished off the water and handed the glass back to him. He went to refill it immediately, then brought it back in, grabbing a blanket on his way and sitting down next to Grantaire.

He handed over the water and waited until Grantaire finished eating before he curled up next to him and draped the blanket over them both, pressing close against his side and turning into him, wrapping an arm around his middle and resting his head on Grantaire's shoulder. 

Grantaire hummed in pleased contentment, leaning into him and pressing a kiss to his hair before he took another drink of water, knowing that Enjolras wouldn't be happy until he'd finished drinking it all. 

"How'd it go?" Enjolras murmured, tangling the fingers of their free hands together and watching them intently, letting the familiar sight of it further soothe the rough edges of his soul. "You got everything done alright?"

"Mhmm," Grantaire agreed, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "Went fine, turned out better than I thought it might."

"That's good," Enjolras said softly. The times when Grantaire came home and _wasn't_ happy with whatever he'd done were the worst. He hated seeing the return of shades of the old self-hating depression and bitterness, even if it wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be. He just couldn't stand the look in his lover's eyes when he felt like he'd failed or he wasn't good enough, when Enjolras thought he was amazing and should never, ever have to doubt himself. 

"How were you?" Grantaire asked him lazily after a minute, finishing off the water and setting the empty glass aside. He turned further into Enjolras and pulled him closer, half into his lap, wrapping both arms around him and kissing his temple.

Enjolras snorted softly. "Awful," he admitted frankly. "Think I terrorised most of the office, probably have interns running from me for weeks. Missed you so much," he admitted, softer, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

"I know, love," Grantaire told him softly again, tightening his arms around him and letting Enjolras hide against his chest. It was still hard for him, a lot of times, to admit to things like wanting and needing and missing, but he'd worked hard on it, made the effort to try because he knew, even if Grantaire didn't _need_ to hear it, he deserved to. But he wasn't all that comfortable with it, all the same, so Grantaire let him hide, stroking his hair affectionately and letting the warmth of having his lover back in his arms seep into his bones, relaxing the strain inside him where he'd missed Enjolras too.

"I hate sleeping alone," Enjolras complained after a minute, muffled against Grantaire's shirt. Hated it with a passion, because it was nearly impossible _to_ sleep these days, without the familiar warmth next to him, the arms that held him even as they slept. But he didn't normally complain about it, either, and bit his lip viciously as soon as the words escaped because dammit.

Grantaire went still and tensed against him, craning his neck to look down at him, trying to get a glimpse of his face. If Enjolras was complaining about that, it wasn't just the lack of Grantaire's presence he was upset about.

"Nightmares again?" he asked in a tight, carefully controlled voice. "How bad?"

Enjolras sighed in frustration, rolling his head to look up at him. "Doesn't matter," he muttered. "Didn't mean to-"

"Shut up," Grantaire told him sharply, cutting him off with a frown. "You weren't going to tell me? Fuck, Enjolras - I want to know, okay? I know--" He sighed explosively, running a hand through his hair. "I know there's nothing I can do, and you don't want me to feel bad about it, whatever, but _I want to know._ " He hesitated briefly.

"I need to. If I can't be here for you when it happens, at least let me make up for it later, okay? I never want to not know. If I think that you're not telling me about it, I'm going to be worrying about it the whole time, and I'll be distracted and whatever I'm doing will take even longer. I need to know that you're going to tell me later, and let me at least - kiss it better or something, shit, I don't know."

He rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to ease the renewed tension in his neck, still frowning. "Please," he said quietly at last, looking down to meet Enjolras' stubborn look.

Enjolras held his gaze for a minute longer before his own wavered and fell, and he sighed, reaching up to smooth the front of Grantaire's shirt, resting his hand there and feeling his heartbeat. Finally he nodded, reluctantly. He still hated the idea, adding that useless burden on top of the exhaustion Grantaire was already carrying, but if Grantaire was going to worry about it anyway there wasn't much point in keeping it from him.

"Okay," he said softly, mouth twisting a little with his dislike of it. "I'm sorry."

Grantaire let out a soft breath of relief, not quite a sigh, and relaxed again, smiling a little as he tilted Enjolras' face up and kissed him gently, tenderly. "Thank you," he whispered. "I love you."

"Love you too," Enjolras murmured against his lips, reaching up to tangle fingers in his hair and pull him down for more kisses, long and languid and searching, gradually reacquainting themselves with each other's mouths.

They spent quite a long while like that, lazily making out, enjoying the warmth and relief of having each other back again, the closeness and the rightness of it, all the pieces of their odd little puzzle slotting back into place and clicking home, savouring the peace of being safe and warm and back where they belonged, in each other's arms.

In a little, Enjolras would pull away and help Grantaire up, supporting his tired lover and dragging him off to shower before collasping into bed with him, curling up close and tangling together, with the shadows and frustration, the nightmares and the tension they'd both been carrying the last two weeks banished finally by the familiar warmth of each other's embrace and the comfort of their shared bed.

In a little. For now, it was enough to just sit here curled up together, warm beneath a shared blanket and sighing with shared kisses, a pleasant hum of contentment in their throats.

For now, this was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: So this was just going to be a standalone ficlet, but it kind of won't leave me alone, so...updating to show this'll be effectively the first chapter of something longer, and there'll be other fics set in this verse also. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as noted at the end of the previous chapter, this is now the beginning of a _much longer_ fic, like it has just exploded into an entire universe, _fractalling_ inside my head into ever increasing size, so. As of now, I will continue adding chapters to this fic in the present-day established relationship timeline, and will be starting a separate fic for telling the backstory, though that'll probably have to wait awhile - there's things I want to establish for the verse in this timeline before I begin introducing them in the past-fic. 
> 
> Most chapters in the present timeline will be domestic fluff and light angst, since at this point in their history they have been together a long time and have mostly worked out or learned to manage a lot of their issues, but they've been through hell to get there - their backstory is considerably angst-filled and fucked up, so it'll bleed through to some extent. We shall see how it goes! 
> 
> I've updated archive warnings and added tags that are relevant due to the past fuckedupness, will try to include trigger warnings where necessary; there is a brief reference to a past suicide attempt in this chapter.

Enjolras would have been happy to just stay there curled up close for hours, but Grantaire needed sleep and if they didn’t move soon, they'd probably end up sleeping where they were, which wouldn't be terribly restful. So he finally sighed reluctantly and pulled himself away, gently disentangling himself and reaching out to help Grantaire to his feet, shifting to take most of his weight and steering him towards the bathroom.

"Shower could wait until morning," Grantaire muttered blearily, leaning gratefully into him and rubbing at his eyes as if that might help him keep them open.

"Shower first," said Enjolras firmly, like he knew Grantaire had already known he would, because Grantaire would feel better and sleep better for it, even if he was so tired right now that he didn’t want to bother. That was what Enjolras was here for. "Come on," he said with gentle ruthlessness. "I'll help you."

Grantaire grumbled under his breath but not in actual words, and allowed Enjolras to drag him in and strip them both with quick, efficient hands. He pushed Grantaire in under the warm spray and propped him against the wall while he went about soaping and washing him with hands that whispered _I love you, you're mine_ silently against his skin. Enjolras said it that way more often than he said it in words, and Grantaire was fine with that - he could always hear it just as well, either way.

Feeling hazy with tiredness and warmth, Grantaire let him do as he wished, letting his heavy eyes fall closed as he melted into the heat of the water and the hands that stroked his skin with Enjolras' particular fierce brand of tenderness, washing and rinsing with quick and practiced care. Then Enjolras was pulling him closer and tugging him to lean against his body while he briefly washed his lover’s hair, working his fingers in deep to rub at the scalp. Grantaire was nearly asleep against his chest while those familiar hands massaged his head, eliciting a sleepy half-moan of pleasure and contentment.

The soothing pulse of the water disappeared abruptly as Enjolras shut it off, waking Grantaire out of the near doze to lead him out of the shower, wrapping him in a fluffy towel and quickly drying him off before guiding him to a seat on the closed lid of the toilet. Grantaire sank down onto it with grateful weariness while Enjolras dried himself as well with more briskness, as quickly as possible. He didn't want Grantaire nodding off on him and falling over before Enjolras could catch him.

Then he moved close again and Grantaire listed forward to rest his head against Enjolras' conveniently placed middle, nuzzling there while Enjolras rubbed another towel over his hair, scrunching and squeezing to get most of the water out, then even more quickly and roughly scrubbing his own hair mostly dry while Grantaire pressed a kiss to the hollow right below his sternum.

"C'mon then," Enjolras murmured with a faint smile in his voice, finding sleepy Grantaire to be almost unbearably adorable; it always made his chest ache. He tossed the damp towels aside to be taken care of later, and Grantaire sighed before dragging himself upright again, letting Enjolras steady him and half carry him in to lay down in their bed, where they curled up together skin to skin finally as both of them sighed in relief.

Grantaire's eyes were already closing, too heavy to keep open now that he was lying down, and he was only dimly aware of the soothing rightness of being tangled up together in their warm familiar way before it all faded away.

Enjolras laid awake for nearly an hour, contenting himself with running his fingers through Grantaire's hair until it dried completely, and mapping out his skin with the broad palms of his hands and the tips of his fingers, relearning him by touch and feel in the dark before he finally relaxed enough to let sleep claim him also.

In the morning when he woke, he didn’t move, because he'd cleared his schedule for as much of the day as possible and Combeferre and Courfeyrac knew where he was, and why, and that he wouldn’t be coming in until absolutely necessary.

These were crash days, recovery time picked carefully out of his schedule with often herculean effort, and sometimes it was Grantaire recovering and sometimes it was him, but they’d learned long ago that not being there for each other in these times was more destructive to their relationship than perhaps anything else, so come hell or high water they _would_ be picked out and preserved.

Perhaps it would've been better if they could simply manage to avoid running themselves down so far in the first place, but neither of them was really happy like that, holding themselves back in that way, so the system they'd worked out, while probably not ideal, was one that worked. After everything they'd fought through just to get here, to stay together despite the odds against them, they were grateful to have found _anything_ that worked, anything that was so comparatively easy, when so many things had been so hard.

When Grantaire's eyes eventually flickered open, Enjolras was watching him with slightly smug affection from a handsbreadth away, one hand still running lazily over his skin. They both smiled as their gaze met, almost involuntarily, and Grantaire rolled onto his back to rub sleep out of his eyes. He wondered how long he'd slept, how long Enjolras had been awake watching him sleep (it should be creepy but instead it just always made him feel warm inside, as did the smug possessiveness), and thought a bit guiltily of the work that Enjolras was probably ignoring in order to be here with him.

He wouldn't say anything, because the system worked and he was grateful for it but all the same, he felt a prickle of guilt at the fact that he was keeping Enjolras from work.

"Don't," Enjolras told him sternly, as if he were reading his mind but really he just knew the way Grantaire thought. Grantaire rolled his eyes amusedly at him, but he let it go, instead rolling back onto his side to study his boyfriend from close up. There were dark circles under his eyes, probably a little lighter now than they’d been last night, and Grantaire frowned at them, reaching up to brush them lightly with one finger.

Enjolras made a face, and it was his turn to flop onto his back, staring at the ceiling with a rather stubborn expression on his face. Grantaire propped himself up on one elbow to study him, and waited.

"It's nothing," Enjolras muttered, "I told you--"

"You told me you would tell me," Grantaire reminded him, resting a hand on his chest, over his heart, and was rewarded by a lovely guilty flush dusting those beautiful cheekbones. "How bad? How many?"

Enjolras sighed, deflating a bit, and reached up to take the hand lying flat across his breastbone, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight enough to make Grantaire frown a little harder.

"Almost every night," he admitted reluctantly at last. "The first few nights were fine...the first week, not so bad...the last week, every night. Every nap," he added grudgingly, in the interest of full disclosure. Every single time he'd managed to even doze off, in fact. Repeatedly, at night. He'd probably gotten as much total sleep in the last week as Grantaire had. Possibly less.

Grantaire bit his lip savagely and tried not to hate himself. If he blamed himself for all this too obviously - and blame himself he did, oh he did, in so many ways - then Enjolras would only try harder to hide it, no matter what he said last night.

"What about," he asked finally, and it came out mostly flat, not really a question, because he knew, oh did he know, but he wanted so badly to be wrong.

Enjolras clearly did not want to answer, would rather be doing anything else than answer, and glared at him with a fury that Grantaire knew was not actually, or not mostly, directed at him.

"That time," he said grimly at last, "and that other time, and...worse. Losing you - a myriad ways, you were just - gone--" Every word sounded dragged out of the depths of him against his will, scraped rough and harsh against his throat, as if it physically hurt him to say them, and his voice cracked on the last one.

Grantaire closed his eyes in pain, his own fingers tightening around Enjolras' hand in an equally crushing grip; neither of them protested. There were reasons, several reasons why Enjolras was so terribly afraid of losing him, and they had argued many times over who was most to blame, each blaming themselves the most and trying to absolve the other - they'd had actual screaming fights about this, who got to be the most sorry and who shouldn't be at all, but Grantaire knew in his bones that it was him who was most at fault. At least for that one time, the worst time.

(Actually he was not sure which was the worst time, for Enjolras, but he was pretty sure it was that one. The time that his fucked up head got the better of him, that left him with the scars on his wrists and arms that Enjolras would sometimes trace obsessively, if often absently, a habit formed by and for reminding himself that they were long healed and Grantaire was still here.)

He could never bear to lose Enjolras either, and feared it as well, but it was not quite the same thing, and he knew it. Enjolras nearly _had_ lost him, more than once, had physical proof of its possibility, and for all that Grantaire has never understood why, what Enjolras saw in him, why he wanted him and needed him, he knew that this was his lover's deepest, darkest fear.

"I'm here," he said gruffly, leaning down to kiss him hard. "I'm right here--" another kiss - "I'm not going anywhere--" another kiss - "you have me forever, _ange_ , you know that." A final kiss, deep and desperate as Enjolras gasped into it, reaching up to tangle fingers in his hair and hold him there.

"I know," he sighed finally when they both needed to breathe again, one hand wrapped around the back of Grantaire's neck to keep him close, resting their foreheads together. "I know," and his voice was easy, but the tightness of the grip on the back of his neck was proof that he felt anything but ease.

"I'm sorry," Grantaire murmured helplessly, wishing like hell he could go back and redo an awful lot of things in his life, but especially those things that gave Enjolras nightmares about losing him. 

Enjolras pulled back far enough to frown at him. "No sorries, we've said our sorries, remember? No more sorries allowed." They'd had to make an agreement at one point that they were never allowed to say they were sorry for certain things again, because otherwise they just kept dragging the guilt around with them, layers and layers of it at this point, instead of working together to move past things. Grantaire shrugged and let it go, because he remembered, but sometimes it slipped out anyway. 

"Two weeks is too long, huh," he mumbled to himself as he studied his lover's face, half thinking out loud. "You could've come to visit me, in between..." There was a reason, also, why he worked in a studio away from the apartment for major projects instead of his workroom here at home, and that was because when he was within reach Enjolras was mostly incapable of not hovering to the point of interference. It took Grantaire out of the headspace he needed for certain things, so the current arrangement was something of a compromise.

Enjolras sighed and let him go, shifting enough to throw an arm across his eyes, hiding again. "I wouldn't have been able to leave, if I did," he muttered, which meant that he had at least seriously considered it.

"So bring Ferre or someone with you who can drag you away again," Grantaire told him - sensibly, he thought.

Enjolras peeked at him from underneath his arm, looking wary. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said at last, not really wanting to elaborate the reasons. They tried not to drag their friends into the middle of particularly fucked up bits of their relationship, for one, and for another, if he were going to make such a visit, merely seeing Grantaire would be of probably limited usefulness. Physical reminders worked better for him, and he really didn’t want to leave one of their friends waiting while they made out for awhile, or better yet had sex, assuming Grantaire would be willing to take the time out to do so; probably yes. But still. There were a lot of problematic things with that plan, which was why he'd ultimately talked himself out of it.

Grantaire nodded, guessing most of it, but the set of his jaw was stubborn. "We'll figure something out," he insisted, because like hell was this happening again. Not if he could help it. It would probably take some trial and error, but so had a lot of the other things they'd worked out over the years, pieces of their routine that made living together and being with each other livable for both of them, and they'd gotten it down to something of a science, he thought. 

"You don't need to--" Enjolras started to object, sitting up and looking angry now, as if he really wanted to fight this out. Grantaire knew that it was mostly the fact that he hated the nightmares in general and liked talking about them or having attention drawn to them even less, partly the fact that he hated the weakness of it, not being in control of it, and probably also that he knew Grantaire was blaming himself for it in more than one way. 

"Yes I _do_ ," Grantaire cut him off with savage finality, and then he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, you don't understand and you're probably not going to, but let's not do this today, okay? It's not even gonna be an issue unless something that'll be that long comes up again, at which point we'll talk about it then, alright?" 

Enjolras looked away from the pleading expression, his lips pressed together in a tight, unhappy line, but he allowed Grantaire to retrieve his hand and link their fingers again, holding on just as tightly, anchoring himself there, and finally letting his breath out in a harsh, explosive sigh. 

"Fine," he muttered, scowling, and then he pushed Grantaire down until they lay facing again and pulled him in against his chest, tucking Grantaire's head under his chin and wrapping him up in arms that were tight as steel bands, holding on hard and just breathing for a moment. He gritted his teeth and buried his face in Grantaire's soft dark curls, hating everything but unable not to hang on as tightly as he could after so long a separation, even if or perhaps especially if they were both upset. 

Once he got that much of a concession, however, Grantaire relaxed again, relieved, and let Enjolras move him wherever he wanted, burrowing happily in against him and smiling against his skin, because most of the things that made Enjolras snarly and scowly on days like this were actually things that made him feel warm inside, and this was not an exception. Especially since he tended to react like this, wrapping Grantaire up like he was trying to surround him with his body and holding on ferociously tight, as if he could physically refuse to let anything tear them apart, even if it was one of their many and varied issues. 

"You're adorable," Grantaire told him fondly, mostly for the way it made him growl and hold on tighter, but no less because it was true, and he hid his smile against Enjolras' collarbone, pressing a kiss there and rubbing a hand in soothing circles on his back. 

Yeah. Absolutely adorable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't know why I gave you my heart, and sometimes it feels so wrong_  
>  _But despite all of this weather I know why we are together_  
>  _And I know right now I'm right where I belong...right where I belong_  
>  \-- 3 Doors Down - Right Where I Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [style note: switching to present tense from this chapter on, it may change again later but this story overall seems to prefer it.]

Enjolras just hangs on tight for a very long time, letting the solid proof of Grantaire in his arms reassure the part of him that had triggered the nightmares in the first place, the part of him that is still terrified, even now, that he's going to lose this, this incredibly important precious thing that he's spent so long fighting so hard for.

The amount of crap they’ve been through, just to get this far, is truly ridiculous, and while he’s not sure they _deserve_ a happy ending, he’s definitely sure they’ve earned it. But it was such a near thing for so long that they might lose it all yet, that the terror is kind of burned into his bones somehow, carved on his very soul. It fades to a quiet mutter most of the time, but he doesn’t handle separation well at all, especially not extended ones.

This last two weeks is the longest they’ve been apart in years, and he’s pretty sure if it had been any longer he might have been losing his mind. Some of the nightmares are about things he’s afraid might happen, yes, but as many or more of them are simply flashbacks to things that did happen, things that feel like being stabbed with a knife just remembering them, and dreaming them in colour is like someone stabbing a knife in and fucking twisting it. They are agony, horror, and a sick cold feeling in his gut that never goes away until Grantaire is there, solid and warm in his arms again.

Talking about them is even worse; he hates it when Grantaire even _knows_ about the nightmares, and it is killing him to have to be talking about it too. He can’t stand the thought of Grantaire trying to fucking interrupt his _work_ and rearrange his life to accommodate them, it’s a fresh wash of horror just thinking about it. He can’t stand it, and it makes him furious that Grantaire won’t just listen to him and drop it and let him deal with it.

They are his mistakes, after all, the things that led to those nightmares. Things that he did which led to the situations in which Grantaire was nearly killed or left him or both, or something else terrible happened. And after knowing it was his fault, that something he did had caused Grantaire that kind of pain, the last thing he wants is for Grantaire to have to remember them now, or deal with them now, much less make accommodations for Enjolras' fucking nightmares about them.

The thing that really infuriates him the most, though, is the fact that he knows, he _knows_ that Grantaire is blaming himself for them, and that he just cannot deal with. He just absolutely can’t. They’ve had fights before about this kind of thing, about ‘you shouldn’t blame yourself’ ‘no, _you_ shouldn’t!’ back and forth, neither of them willing to allow the other to accept any particle of blame.

It’s a particular sort of fucked up madness, Enjolras supposes, this mutual wanting to take all the blame and not wanting the one they love to think they are at fault for anything, but they’ve been helpless to come to any sort of compromise other than saying you know what, it happened, it’s over, who’s at fault doesn’t matter anymore; and then secretly still each taking all the blame for themselves while they agree to never talk about it again.

But when the nightmares bring things back to the surface like this, it becomes harder to maintain that careful détente, the illusion that it’s nobody’s fault and no one is blaming themselves for it. And Grantaire insisting on talking about them, on _doing_ something about them makes it even harder, and Enjolras thinks they are probably going to end up fighting about it. Again.

Their fights, at least the serious ones that end up hurting them both, are much rarer now that they’ve learned how to prevent the most destructive habits in their relationship, but they do still happen occasionally. Enjolras would like to prevent that from happening this time, but if Grantaire keeps insisting on this he’s pretty sure it’s going to happen anyway, because it makes him furious just thinking about it and he doubts he’ll be able to listen to much more of it without exploding.

But not right now, right now all he has to do is hold on, and let the shivery edge of anger and fear recede a little farther with every moment as Grantaire lies practically melted in his arms, nuzzling against him and nearly purring with how much he enjoys the way Enjolras is wrapped so tightly around him. It helps, that he both understands _why_ Enjolras needs to hold on so tight, and that he enjoys it as well, isn’t just humouring him. Well, maybe humouring him a little, but still. He likes this, and he likes that Enjolras likes it, and it makes it all just a little more bearable.

Which is good, because after the last two weeks Enjolras feels rather like his chest and gut are raw and bloody, with ragged holes from being stabbed over and over, knives twisted in with every nightmare, every memory, every fear. He just needs a little bit of time for nothing but this, only holding on and breathing.

Usually by this point in their reunion/crash days, they’d be having sex already, but Enjolras can’t quite go there yet. Soon, but not just yet.

"I do need to breathe, Enjolras," Grantaire tells him, sounding in fact breathless, and slightly amused.

"Sorry," Enjolras mutters, and it takes him a minute but he manages to loosen his grip a little, just slightly. "Better?"

"Mmm fine," Grantaire assures him, kissing his throat and his shoulder and that place just beneath his ear that he knows is guaranteed to get him a shiver.

Enjolras does shiver, and then growls softly, reaching up with one hand to pull his boyfriend's hair. "Stop," he grumbles. "Not right now."

Grantaire leans back as much as he can, looking up at him interrogatively. "Stop turning you on?" he guesses, raising an eyebrow. That’s...unexpected, and probably not good. Grantaire revises his estimate of how much the argument and the issues with the nightmares are fucking him up. Really not good, then.

"Yes," Enjolras grumbles back at him, pulling his hair again as a warning.

"Okay," Grantaire tells him soothingly, kissing his shoulder in apology and going back to rubbing slow, warm circles on his back, resting his ear against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. "I’m here," he says softly. "I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re _okay_ , Enjolras."

"I know that," Enjolras mutters impatiently, but it doesn’t sound terribly convincing, even to his own ears. He _does_ know all that, but he’s having trouble _feeling_ it. 

Grantaire hums a little, a soft thinking noise as his hands run comfortingly up and down Enjolras’ spine, wishing he knew what would help. "Tell me what I can do, _ange_ , tell me what you need."

"Just...this," Enjolras sighs, unhappy with himself. He should be able to pull himself together quicker than this, better than this. "Just need to hold on for awhile."

"Okay," Grantaire murmurs, tilting his head a bit to kiss Enjolras’ shoulder again before resting it back in the same position, keeping track of Enjolras’ heartbeat with a slight frown – it’s erratic, and slightly too fast. "As long as you need, _ange de mon coeur_. Whatever you need. I’m here, and I love you, and I’m not letting go."

Enjolras makes a small involuntary wounded sound, his arms suddenly tightening hard around Grantaire, and he feels Grantaire jerk in surprise, knows he’s giving too much away but he suddenly can’t breathe and he _doesn’t care_. Though he will when he can breathe again, because shit. Grantaire mutters something he can’t make out the words of, sudden soft comprehension, and Enjolras shakes his head, but not in denial because he’s pretty sure Grantaire has figured this out. Fucking hell.

"Those too?" Grantaire asks finally, louder and incredibly sad. Out of all the things he _knows_ Enjolras has nightmares about, and a few that he suspects, these didn’t even make the list, but probably should have. Probably he should have known better. " _Enjolras_ ," he says pleadingly, aching for him, shuddering with grief and guilt. "I'm sorry, lover, I'm so sorry. God, so, _so_ sorry..." He turns his head to kiss anywhere he can reach, murmuring apologies against the skin with each one.

"Don't," Enjolras manages fiercely. " _Don't_ , it's not, it wasn't you, it was my fault." He knows it's the wrong thing to say, but he can't help himself. The idea of Grantaire blaming himself for these things, any of the nightmares and their antecedents, triggers a response that is as much fear as anger, so strong that he can't think through it, he just reacts. It is a thing that must not happen, he needs to stop it from happening, he _has_ to, even if it means they have to fight about it.

Grantaire goes absolutely still, frozen against him for a long minute, before looking up at him incredulously. " _Your fault?_ " he says in a strangled voice. He lets out a brief, strained and bitter laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "How in God's name is that _your_ fault? No do, please, tell me how." He's shaking a little, realising somewhere in the back of his mind that he's getting angry now too and Enjolras is probably going to get that fight he was looking for, and dammit. This was supposed to be a good day.

Fuck them and their stupid, _stupid_ issues. Their stupid fucked up history. All the fucking mistakes and false starts and cutting words on both sides. Fuck it all to fucking hell, Grantaire thinks.

Enjolras winces and shakes his head, sharp and fierce, tightening his grip again. "No, not - not today, you were right. Not today, okay?" he says, pleading now, because Grantaire is twitching like he wants to pull out of Enjolras' arms and face off with him, and Enjolras seriously cannot deal with letting him go right now.

Grantaire is still, tense and stiff for another long minute before he finally sighs and lets it go, mostly relaxing back into the fierce embrace Enjolras is clutching him in, burrowing in against him rather more moodily than before. He doesn't like it, still doesn't like it at all, still wants to know how in the _hell_ Enjolras thinks it's his fault, those times. The times early in their relationship when Grantaire had stupidly decided that he was too fucked up, Enjolras was better off without him, and tried to leave him, break up with him for his own good, thinking Enjolras would get over him and his life would be better without Grantaire around fucking up and dragging him down.

No, those times are all on him, he's pretty sure, so _what the fuck?_ Though granted before today he hadn't realised they were contributing to the nightmares. He really, really probably should have. It's definitely not Enjolras' fault, nothing _he_ did, and Grantaire wants to tell him so, loudly and at length if necessary - if Enjolras wants to fight about all this, Grantaire is certainly ready to give him one now. But Enjolras saying he was right about something doesn't happen very often, and in any case he _is_ right - neither of them wants to do that today.

"This sucks," he mutters, and hears Enjolras sigh and make a soft sound of agreement. It really does suck, that even after all this time and everything they've worked so hard for, things like this can still trip them up. And one of their best usual methods for making up and reconnecting is looking pretty off the table, considering that reaction earlier and now this. "No sex today?" Grantaire asks tiredly, just to make sure, and he feels more than sees his lover flinch.

"Maybe...later?" Enjolras hedges. He's got some fresh stab wounds now, after this, and he's really not sure if he's going to be in the mood for that anytime soon. Maybe later, maybe this evening? He doesn't know.

Grantaire sighs. "Right." He's not quite sure what about all this is making Enjolras feel like he's not up for that today, but he's not sure he wants to know, either. He has a feeling he wouldn't like the answer. For him, sex is the most complete reconnecting thing, the thing that settles and grounds him again after they've been apart, the purest and deepest, most intense expression of the _touching_ he always craves, but at least they're skin to skin and Enjolras is holding him and that's better than nothing.

Enjolras murmurs apologies into his hair, kissing it and reaching up to tangle the fingers of one hand into the black curls, stroking through and rubbing his head in the way that usually makes Grantaire melt, and hopefully at the moment will help with - well, everything. Grantaire needs touching more than anything, often non-sexual, simple affection, but other times... Well, Enjolras has made it a life work to catalogue what kinds of touches work the best and when, for what reasons. What he can communicate with them, or try to. Learning to say things with his hands instead of with words, things like _I love you_ and _you're mine_ and _I'm sorry_ , even _you're amazing, beautiful, sexy, I'll never let you go, I'll never not want you, want to keep you, I forgive you anything and everything before it even happens, I always will._

Grantaire moans, a little in disbelief and a little at the pleasure and warmth of it, nuzzling against Enjolras' collarbone and trying not to lick it, but damn.

"Not - helping," he hisses at Enjolras, because Enjolras should know better, fingers in his hair like that often turn him on, not always but at least when it happens like this, when his mind and body are already telling him it should be time for sex now. His whole body aches with trying not to rub up against the beloved, hellishly attractive form that is holding him so close, everything in him wants to press in and just grind against those perfect hipbones until he comes, but if it's not going to be mutual it will just make him feel worse.

Enjolras stops moving his fingers, though he leaves them wound through the soft curly hair. "I...sorry, I - I know," he says haltingly, apologetic, though he hadn't, really, hadn't thought about what he was doing beyond wanting to express his feelings and make his boyfriend feel good. Feel better. There had maybe been a sort of vague, half-formed thought that even if he didn't feel like sex right now, he knew it was important to his lover and he could at least...get him off, or something. But that isn't really what Grantaire wants, and now that he's actually thinking about it Enjolras supposes he might even be pretty fucking insulted.

Growling softly, Grantaire bites his shoulder in reproof, brief and sharp rather than teasing. "It can wait," he says firmly. "Just like the rest of it. Everything can wait, because this is snuggling day, Enjolras, so shut up and cuddle. And then you can feed me that enormous breakfast or brunch or whatever you have planned, and we can snuggle on the couch some more, and...everything will be fine," he finishes fondly, and god he is so in love with this ridiculous man.

"Hmmm," Enjolras agrees, sighing a little and relaxing back into it, the pure relief of the 'just holding on', pressing his face against Grantaire's hair, fingers still tangled in the back of it. He hums a little in contentment, a pleased little sound in the back of his throat, and focuses on the way his lover fits against him, so perfectly, the dark head tucked in against his shoulder, and on the lazy hands roaming up and down his back and sides, wherever Grantaire can reach. It's all good, stupidly good, and his boyfriend is still humouring him a little but mostly just...giving him this, even giving things up to give him this, because he knows Enjolras needs it; even if he was and is ready to fight tooth and nail about some of the things that led to it, he still wants to take time out for it first, for this, for Enjolras.

The swell of love and gratitude and affection and just... _feeling_ that threatens to engulf him is too big, too much to contain, it feels like it might break him, the way he feels about Grantaire. Sometimes he thinks he is going to drown in it, how much he loves this man. No matter what mistakes they make, now or in the past, they are good together, _right_ together, they belong. He is never going to need anything the way he needs this.

"I love you," he whispers, because he does know how to say it in words too, he does. And as an apology, he could hardly do better.

"I know," Grantaire tells him, sounding wryly amused and affectionate. "I know. I got you, _ange_ , I got you. We're okay." And they will be, somehow, no matter what.

They're okay, and everything's going to be fine. They are right where they belong - together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is the same place now...no, not the same place_   
>  _This is the same place, love_   
>  _No, not the same place we've been before..._
> 
> _Hey, love, I am a constant satellite Of your blazing sun_  
>  _My love, I obey your law of gravity_  
>  _This is the fate you've carved on me The law of gravity_  
>  \-- Vienna Teng - Gravity

Eventually they do drag themselves out of bed for that breakfast, companionably working side by side in the kitchen in a rhythm that goes some ways toward easing both of their minds, reasserting their usual dance with its casual, practiced interweave. It's comforting and familiar and _home_ in a way that home isn't when one of them is away or work-absorbed.

Normally at a time like this, Enjolras would protest letting Grantaire help, wanting him to rest and let Enjolras do everything, take care of him and spoil him while he recovers. It's a sign of how shaken he is (one that he knows Grantaire will pick up on) that he doesn't object at all to Grantaire helping him cook and set plates on the table and so on. They both need it right now, he thinks.

Grantaire watches him out of the corners of his eyes as they work, slightly wary and trying to hide his growing sense of disquiet and alarm, because this is all - ever since he got back last night, this is all _increasingly_ way outside the norm of behaviour for Enjolras on a day like today, and he doesn’t like one single tiny little thing about what it means. It chills him to the point of having to repress a shudder when he thinks about it in context.

But if he lets Enjolras see how worried he is, probably they will end up having that talk they're avoiding, and the fight it will almost certainly lead to, sooner rather than later. On top of everything else, above all they do not need to, _cannot_ have that fight today, not when they are both drained and exhausted and on edge.

So Grantaire just lets himself fall into their familiar patterns, soothing as it is, and hopes that the simple fact of him being there, being whole and safe and acting normal, is soothing enough to start pulling Enjolras back from whatever edge he’s been staring over.

It does help, a little, at least it lets Enjolras push it a little farther to the side for a little while, and he makes sure they talk about simple, safe, normal everyday things while they eat. Catching up on news of friends and neighbours, planning their customary weekly date, debating the possibility they recently discussed of adopting a rescue cat from the shelter Grantaire volunteers at.

They don't talk about work, or sleep, or sex.

Enjolras watches like a hawk to make sure that Grantaire is eating and drinking as much as Enjolras feels he needs to, barely tasting his own food because he is too busy watching Grantaire’s face, watching as some of the weariness and lines of strain fade away with the comfort of good food and easy company.

After two weeks it’s not all going to be taken care of in a day, Enjolras knows that, but while Grantaire looks tired he also looks happy, for the most part - there’s a shadow in his eyes still that Enjolras knows is going to hang over them both until they finish the conversation they are putting off, but Grantaire is still smiling and occasionally rolling his eyes at him with both affection and amusement as they talk, so Enjolras lets himself take a breath, two, three, and relax a little more, just for now.

They clean up together in comfortable silence, mostly, quickly clearing things away and leaving the dirty dishes mainly in the sink because it is a rule of crash days that they can bloody wait until tomorrow.

Grantaire sighs a little in relief when Enjolras is himself again enough to frown and sternly point him at the couch as he finishes the last of the cleanup, and he smirks and steals a kiss before he goes. He slept for, he thinks, around ten hours, but he still feels pretty generally exhausted and probably needs another twelve at least. Enjolras needs more than that, he feels sure, so they will be going to bed early tonight if Grantaire has anything to say about it.

He settles himself on the couch with a comfortable sigh, arranging pillows and cushions and blanket rather more comfortably than he had bothered with last night, because they'll be sitting here for at least a few hours, though he suspects Enjolras may not let him up aside from bathroom breaks until it's time to drag him off to bed again.

He's not really expecting it to be the fun kind of dragging, either, not the more time he has to really look at Enjolras and watch him move. He frowns lightly to himself while Enjolras isn't there to see, because it wasn't only the _not_ shooing him away from helping that's worrying him, setting off his internal alarms. There was also the continual contact of hands and arms and shoulders, lingering brushes or briefly gripping touches in passing all morning; not in the way they often normally touch, simple teasing or affection, but more - something with a tinge of urgency and desperation, anxiety and necessity, as if Enjolras had needed to constantly reassure himself that he could.

Too many little things about his manner and movements are just...off, right now. The way he hadn't taken his eyes off of Grantaire for a single second once they sat down to eat, the circles under his eyes standing out even starker in the warm light of morning, jarring against the sunny kitchen and normalcy of breakfast. Those eyes are always fucking intense, but today there is a kind of glittering pointedness to his gaze that is closer to the edge of sanity than Grantaire is really comfortable with. The way Enjolras is moving now a little too quickly, almost anxiously, to follow Grantaire to the couch and curl up beside him.

Enjolras looks, really, something of a wreck, as if he were just as exhausted and worn down by these last couple of weeks as Grantaire, and like something inside him is not only wound tight and twisted, but threaded with barbed wire. Stabbing him, _hurting_ him. Even as Enjolras relaxed outwardly over the course of breakfast, and smiles now as he settles in beside Grantaire, there is still a look in his eyes that makes Grantaire feel bruised and a little broken deep inside, just looking at it.

So Grantaire wraps around him as best he can, because if lying together in bed is the time when Enjolras tries to surround him with his holding on, all arms and legs like a particularly determined octopus, sitting together like this is when it's Grantaire's turn to let him burrow in and be held tight and wrapped close and warm. His turn to surround and anchor or - and, or - protect, depending on the day.

Today is definitely an 'and' day, he feels protective as shit right now, _needs_ to somehow put himself between Enjolras and the world for a little while, curl up around him and shield him as best he can. Maybe a long while, because still there are things here, more things that are setting off some pretty significant alarm bells for him, things that really he should have noticed last night except he was pretty nearly falling down at the time.

He hadn't expected (he should have, oh god he really should have) that Enjolras would be as, if not more so, in need of care and comfort and close watching as himself after this long separation. Last night he'd been so out of it and still hazy with the recent surfacing out of art space, he'd just fallen into their usual routine and it had been Enjolras' turn to take care of him, so he'd not thought that there was anything to worry about on his end. He hadn't been paying close enough attention and he _knows_ better, he does.

Sometimes, he is really, really stupid.

Because Enjolras is too quiet, too quiescent here, silent and reserved with the effort of trying to obscure his damage, struggling to maintain his defenses but clearly, now that breakfast is over the forced relaxation is vanishing like the smokescreen it was, betraying the tension underneath.

Now that all Enjolras has to do is curl up safe and warm and hold on as much as he wants, now that it is (as clearly defined by the rules of crash day) time for nothing but snuggling, he's letting Grantaire pull him nearly into his lap again, even more so than last night. Burrowing into his arms and hiding yet again as he's been doing in various ways ever since Grantaire came home, hiding almost desperately against him, with white-knuckled hands fisted in Grantaire's shirt and... _clinging_.

Grantaire thinks he might even be - yeah, Enjolras is _shaking_ a little and shit. Shit shit bloody fucking shit. Everything about this is so not good and none of it is ever allowed to happen again, _ever_ , even if he has to turn down a job, even if he has to try to work here at home with all the trouble that involves, even if they have to get their friends involved, _no matter what_ he is never, ever letting this happen again.

"You got me, _ange_ ," he whispers into the soft blond hair, dropping kisses between murmured helpless reassurances. "Yours forever, signed an' sealed, all sold. You own me, love, heart an' soul. No matter what, I'll always come back to you." _I'll never leave_ , he wants to say, but he's not sure if he can, if he should promise that, if it might make things worse.

This isn't healthy, he knows that, none of this is healthy and none of that matters because they're both so fucking damaged and this is how it works. They can't do healthy, not anymore (as if that had ever been an option for them in the first place, to be honest), but this is what they have and what he'll fight for to the last breath in his body.

They'll jury rig and work around things somehow and figure it out, step by step slow and painful maybe but they'll stay and they'll make it work and it doesn't matter if it's not healthy, it's _what they have_. And it's worth anything and everything.

And Grantaire will, absolutely will, hold on so tightly neither of them can breathe, and he does just that for long, long minutes, and the longer he does and the tighter he holds with soft words pouring out of him, soothing assurance and comfort and promises, the more he can feel Enjolras relaxing, calming, something. Still tense and nearly silent, but a little bit of easing. Whatever, Grantaire's helping somehow, he just needs to keep holding on.

He can do that. That he can do. 

What he can also do, and does, is pull out his phone and text Joly.

R: _E's not coming in today, period. not letting him._  
R: _think he's in worse shape than I am, the hell? srsly you guys, wtf???_  
R: _why the fuck didn't somebody - fuck it_  
R: _just no, not today, at ALL._

Then he turns the phone off and sets it aside without bothering to wait for a reply, because he's so done with it all and Enjolras needs him, needs his full attention right now. If there's some kind of emergency that warrants interrupting them today, someone can fucking come over and knock. He's angry again, furious somewhere deep down, and not only at himself.

He knows Enjolras is good at hiding things, but surely someone had to have noticed how fucked up he was looking, right? That he was basically not sleeping at all? Tense as a strung wire, strained nearly to the point of snapping - how could no one have seen? Grantaire is surprisingly angrier than he thought he might be, if he'd ever thought about it, ever imagined this could happen, to know that no one noticed, or if they did, no one did anything about it.

Not that Enjolras would have let them, he would have refused any help as outside interference probably, but they could have, should have forced his hand, done _something_ anyway. Grantaire thinks it must have been obvious enough that something was wrong, to the friends that know him so well, that _someone_ should have seen, should have at least come and gotten Grantaire to do something about it, if nothing else.

Someone should have known, and it makes him furious that no one did, no one saw. But a great deal of the anger is directed at himself, sharp and bitter, because Grantaire didn't see either, not until this morning. Not last night, when Enjolras had even slipped up and said something, _talked_ to him about it and he still hadn't fully caught on, not until after the almost-fights and fierce holding on from this morning.

He should have known better, Grantaire thinks grimly. Should have _expected_ something like this. This should never have happened, and all he can do now is wrap himself around his beautiful, fierce but occasionally fragile angel, the flame that draws him like a moth, the sun that burns at the center of his gravity, and hold on with all his might. He'll hold on as long as he has to to make things all right again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is better than wine..._  
>  \-- Song of Songs 1:2

Enjolras is sometimes so very grateful for the way Grantaire will give comfort without asking questions, will simply be there and know what he needs and give it to him without Enjolras having to admit it or ask for it or explain.

Right now he knows he will have to talk about it later, but because of the sacred nature of these days that they've reserved for comfort and healing and peace, sacred in the only religion they have, he doesn't have to yet. Doesn't have to think ahead or plan for it - right now, they are caught out of time, purposely set adrift from reality, just for a day. A holiday in the truest sense of the word, a holy day, set apart just for them being there with each other.

But Grantaire will sometimes even do this on ordinary days, and much as Enjolras would like to think he returns the favour when he can, he knows he's not as good at it. Grantaire is still better with emotions than he is, better at reading and sensing them in other people, and knowing how to respond. Enjolras tries, and he knows he's a lot better than he used to be, back at the disastrous beginning of their relationship, but he doesn't have quite that instinctual sense of when comfort is needed and how to give it.

At the moment, however, he is watching Grantaire texting on his phone with a small frown, more a line of confusion between his eyes than anything.

"What are you doing?"

Grantaire actually does frown, a dark scowl ordering his mobile features into harsh lines, like a dictator taking over a small army. "Calling you in to work. You're not going, even if I have to sit on you, even if I have to _drug_ you. They don't need you that bad. Not today. Fucking hell no," he says grimly, and then he sighs, a sound of frustrated anger and something like despair. His arms settle back around Enjolras to pull him close again, holding on tightly enough to leave bruises.

Enjolras just stares at him for a few minutes, both startled and surprised, not really sure what to do with any of that. The puzzled crinkle between his eyebrows deepens in bemusement, and he relaxes into Grantaire's hold while he sorts it out in his head, adding the bruising grip and the tension in his lover's body to the tally of Unexpected and Possibly Concerning Things that Grantaire has done in the last few minutes.

He doesn't really want to go into the office, not if he doesn't have to - even if Grantaire came with him, which he undoubtedly would, it's not the same safe haven they've carved out here at home, and right now he just wants to be holding Grantaire or at least touching him and making sure he's safe and happy, giving him his full attention for as long as possible.

So it's not that he wants to argue, exactly, it's just that...it's very out of character, for Grantaire, and Enjolras doesn't understand what's going on, what's bothering him. If he would have asked or pleaded for Enjolras to not go, that would have been unusual but not outside of normal behaviour for him. This wasn't asking, though, this was...a decision. Grantaire making a decision for him without asking, which. Well.

Normally he'd probably mind, he doesn't like it when people make decisions for him, even if it's Grantaire, and Grantaire isn't the kind of person that normally does that anyway, so it is doubly Unexpected and Concerning. The fact that Grantaire seems _angry_ about it, upset and angry and tense, even after he shut off his phone, that is several more Concerning Things.

"You're angry," Enjolras says finally, testing the waters, not sure if Grantaire will actually tell him what is wrong. He curls in closer, nestling up under Grantaire's chin, pressed against him and listening to the reassuring heartbeat under his ear. It is relieving, at least, that Grantaire is still holding him close and tight, so maybe he's not angry with Enjolras. He might be angry with himself, but he usually tries to avoid letting Enjolras see it.

Enjolras can't think of any reason he would be angry with anyone else, though, and if he's just...angry in general about the possibility of work taking Enjolras away from him, that's even more out of character. There's no need to be angry about that; they negotiate that now. So none of this really makes sense, and yet, Grantaire is still tense, his heart beating a little too fast, and his fingers are almost definitely leaving bruises. That last Enjolras doesn't mind so much, Grantaire can keep doing that all day.

But the rest of it...it really is all quite Concerning.

"Why are you angry?"

Grantaire growls, a short, bitten off sound of frustrated rage. "I don't think we should talk about that," he says finally, his voice lower and growling too, dark with the undercurrent of anger.

Enjolras blinks at that, shifting and craning his neck to look up at Grantaire's expression, carefully studying every detail. He looks angry, but also...bleak somehow, his green eyes haunted and dark, his mouth set in lines of disappointment and betrayal.

If he doesn't think they should talk about it, then it is somehow related to the fight they are not-having -- it's about Enjolras not sleeping, about the nightmares. So part of it _is_ anger at himself, Enjolras concludes, but not all of it. Their friends, too.

"I _am_ a responsible adult," Enjolras tells him in fond exasperation, faintly amused but mostly just...warmed by it, that Grantaire is angry with their friends for not taking better care of him. He refrains from saying that it's not their job to take care of him, because he knows that will only turn more of Grantaire's anger on himself, because Grantaire believes that it is, at the very least, _his_ job.

In truth, Enjolras likes it that way, at least most of the time, likes the way their relationship balances back and forth between them, both taking care of each other. Once in awhile, in times such as this, it backfires a little, but that's okay. He'll take it. This part, they can handle.

He stretches up to kiss Grantaire's cheek, and then his mouth, softly. "Thank you," he whispers against the familiar shape of it.

Grantaire's expression is slack and slightly dazed now, wiped clean by the surprise of the kiss, and a faint shadow of confusion settles over it as he tries to focus again, regathering his thoughts after Enjolras sent them all flying.

"What for?" he asks finally, sounding as if he wants to be grumbling, but his voice is a little hoarse suddenly and it is all so endearing that Enjolras has to smile, and lean in to kiss him again.

"For calling me in to work," he murmurs, leaving kisses down Grantaire's jawline and his throat, dropping words in between like summer rain. "For being angry for me. For taking care of me."

Down along his collarbone now, more raindrop-kisses. "For today. For being there."

A single kiss, careful and reverent, in the hollow of his throat, the next words murmured against it. "For being you."

Grantaire is still and silent, blinking dazedly at him, shivering a little at the kisses, and Enjolras is pleased to note that all the tension has drained out of him. His grip has slackened a bit too, with his bewildered surprise, and Enjolras is rather less pleased about that, but he knows it's only temporary.

"I...huh," Grantaire says finally, clearing his throat and shaking his head, as if he can't find any words, and that, Enjolras is definitely pleased about. He watches Grantaire with a soft trace of a satisfied smile on his lips, reaching up to push a lock of dark hair back so he can watch Grantaire's eyes unimpeded, watch the soft haze clear as their sharp focus gradually returns, muted sea-green shifting to clear, bright jade.

Enjolras hums in pleased satisfaction as Grantaire's gaze sharpens to meet his again, and he settles in close in contentment. "Mine," he murmurs softly, possessively, half to himself, cupping the side of Grantaire's face with his hand and just looking at him, taking every detail in obsessively, every little thing that he loves about this man, not least the soul shining out from within. "All mine."

Grantaire smiles a little, reaching up as well to run a hand through Enjolras' hair, stroking through it slow and meditative, tugging him down with a grip on the back of his neck to kiss his forehead. 

"Yours," he agrees, sounding content now, and happy, his anger dissolved; or at least set aside, for now. He tilts his head indulgently in the way that Enjolras knows means _You are ridiculous for being so pleased to have a screwup like me_ , but he doesn't say it.

He knows Enjolras would only roll his eyes and argue with him, and they've said it all before enough times that these days they don't bother with words at all; the headtilt from Grantaire, and a raised eyebrow in response are enough. In the end, it means he doesn't argue when Enjolras wants to just sit there and watch him for awhile, in a way that some people (Courfeyrac) would call adoring, and that is all that matters.

Enjolras isn't sure that adoring is the right word for it, but then again Grantaire is the object of worship in the only religion he has, and adoring is the word for that, right? This devotion, this love that is too big for his chest, too great for his body to contain, this sacred obsession that he observes religiously; this is worship, this is adoration.

The thought makes him pause and bite the inside of his lip with a flicker of uncertainty, his eyes never leaving Grantaire's, but turning thoughtful - hesitating briefly as he turns it over in his mind, the words on the tip of his tongue, what he's about to say. Is it right? Can he say it now, is this the time? 

He can't say it if he isn't sure, if he doesn't mean it, because having to take it back, later - it would be far too cruel, on a day like today. But, he thinks, maybe. Maybe yes. 

He hums thoughtfully in the back of his throat, his hand stroking Grantaire's hair back from the side of his face and then drifting down, tracing the line of his neck and shoulder, sliding down across his chest and side, coming to rest at his waist. _Yes_ , he thinks, still holding Grantaire's eyes, a different kind of tension in the air now.

"I think," he says slowly, licking his lips, "that it is time for bed now."

Grantaire's breath catches sharply as he goes still beneath Enjolras, hushed, his eyes desperate as his grip tightens to bruising strength again. He hesitates, biting his lip, searching Enjolras' face in silent question: _Are you sure? Are you really sure? Because I want this so, so badly; but I only want it if you want it too._

Nodding, Enjolras leans in to rest their foreheads together, hands squeezing in reassurance as he looks into Grantaire's eyes with calm certainty.

"I'm sure," he breathes, barely audible at all, the words not really needed, but he knows Grantaire likes to hear them. "I want to." _Let me worship you, let's worship each other, together._

Grantaire's smile then is blinding, wide and brilliant, and he leans in for another kiss, this one deep and hungry and full of joy, of delight.

"Let's go," he agrees, his voice low and rough and husky now, making Enjolras shiver in anticipation as it tingles down his spine. Yeah, it's right. It's now, this is the time.

"Come on then," Enjolras says, urgent and insistent now, getting to his feet and tugging Grantaire up after - pulling him in for another kiss, hot and sweet, clinging to him as they stumble toward the bedroom, already intertwined.

Time for this now, yes - it's time. The final sacrament of these sacred days. Time for the deepest reconnection, in at least one way to be whole again. It's definitely time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know you feel the same as I inside, It feels like in a dream where we can fly_   
> _Like a sign, like a dream, you're my amaranthine You're all I needed, believe me_   
> _Like we drift in a stream, your beauty serene_   
> _There's nothing else in life I ever need, my dream, amaranthine_   
> _\-- Amaranthe - Amaranthine_

They finally make it to the bed and tumble down in breathless laughter, limbs tangled together as they kiss and kiss and fumble rather ineffectively at clothing, hands finding their way in and around and under it despite that.

Hands stroking the hot silk of skin, reverent and joyful, and they spend almost as much time staring into each other's eyes as they do kissing and licking at gradually revealed skin. The clothes are banished eventually, tossed heedlessly on the floor because right now, the most important thing is each other, is holding and touching and kissing everywhere they can reach, reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies in the most intimate of ways.

It's a slow burn, for once, urgency tempered by quiet joy and sacred wonder. They move together slowly, surely, enjoying the safety of knowing that they are exactly what each other wants, that this is home and love and perfection, right here, a unity that goes deeper than simply physical, but is enhanced by it.

Grantaire is more relieved than he wants to admit that Enjolras changed his mind, for whatever reason, and he can have this today. It's this that proves to him, through his fingertips and marked on his skin, that he's really home again, that Enjolras still wants him, even though he can't figure out why. He knows it's stupid to still have doubts, especially when the separation was clearly just as hard on Enjolras as it was on him, but there's something about the way Enjolras touches him when they do this that reassures some part of his brain in a way that mere words and facts can't.

Something about the love and devotion in every look and kiss and touch, something about the way Enjolras completely takes him over, swamping all his senses with the hereness and rightness of them being together, in the most complete way he knows. This is where he belongs, for all time, for eternity.

Enjolras knows it too, knows how much Grantaire depends on this, and he takes his time, carefully worshiping with every touch, keeping the pace of it slow but no less intense for all of that, his entire attention focused on giving back and reconnecting, holding his lover's eyes and kissing him deeply as they rock together. This is right, this is who they are, love and acceptance on the deepest level.

Everything they've been through, all the choices they've made to get here, all of it is justified with this proof that no matter what they may disagree or even fight about, they belong. This is always going to be here, bedrock underneath any trouble that comes their way. They've paid for it in blood and tears, but it's a sure thing now, steady and immovable, a bone deep faith in each other and their place together.

When they finally collapse, spent, resting against each other still, not wanting to break the moment, Enjolras tucks his face into the corner of Grantaire's shoulder and just breathes him in, one hand stroking softly through his hair, listening to the hum of contentment it gets him. The desperation and fear from earlier is eased now, dissipated somewhat with the reassurance of knitting themselves back together on every level, a joining as much spiritual as physical.

There's something deeper they don't have words for, something that isn't just about love and want but _belonging_ in a way that isn't merely physical or emotional - there's a bond that goes beyond that, soul deep and satisfying. It encompasses every touch and word and deed, but it is more than the sum of the things they can quantify; it is made up of those things, but it is more than that, too. And they don't need words for it, not here, not now. Not when they can both feel and relax into the _knowing._

"Think you broke me," Grantaire murmurs finally, a faint smile in his voice. His hand is smoothing tenderly over Enjolras's back again, running up and down his spine in a familiar way.

"Good," Enjolras answers, definitely smiling into his skin, kissing it softly. Breaking through the last defenses and guilt and anger and whatever else has been standing between them today is a good thing, breaking all that down until they are just them again, in the most basic of ways.

Grantaire laughs, soft and affectionate, and doesn't bother moving yet, doesn't want to let go or shift to be any less close than how they are, right now. Moving and getting clean can wait, just for now.

"Thought you might not be up for this today," he says finally, still a little curious about why. It's not that Enjolras doesn't like sex or doesn't want him as much as Grantaire wants him, but they both know that Enjolras doesn't need it in quite the same way, that Grantaire is always ready for it but sometimes Enjolras is not. On these days, though, their recovery days, or any other days when they're both feeling a little raw and desperate, sex is pretty much a given, so the rare times when Enjolras says no at a time like this tend to mean that something pretty serious is wrong.

Enjolras shrugs a little and sighs, making himself more comfortable where he is draped bonelessly across Grantaire's chest, stroking a hand down over his side.

"I don't know," he says finally, quietly at last, responding more to the question of why that he knows is behind the observation. "They - when I have those dreams, or we have to talk about them --" He pauses, biting his lip, trying to leave it at a distance and not tense up again. Grantaire's hand stroking warm reassurance up and down his back helps with that, and for a moment he just relaxes into it, feeling the care and love bleeding through the contact.

"It feels like being stabbed," he murmurs finally, barely voiced next to Grantaire's ear. "Over and over, like someone is stabbing me with a knife and twisting. So many dreams so close together, and then you wanting to talk about it...couldn't heal. Just covered in stab wounds, bleeding out." A tiny, minuscule flinch at his own words, the reminder that Grantaire nearly had, once, and Grantaire murmurs soothingly, wordless reassurance as he holds him close, kissing his hair.

"I'm here, _ange,_ " he whispers softly, aching with the need to make things better, to affirm that despite all the things that Enjolras has seen in his nightmares, Grantaire is still here, still with him, well and whole. "I'm here and I'm staying, for good, you know that."

"I know," Enjolras agrees, sighing a little, but he sounds more sure of it than he did this morning, so Grantaire will take that as a win.

"I'll never let you go," he promises, because maybe he can't promise to never leave, that nothing will ever take him away, life is too uncertain for that, but he can promise this. _Never let you go._

"Mine forever," Enjolras agrees, shifting a little to kiss him fiercely, a hand wrapping possesively tight on the back of his neck. "All mine," he whispers against Grantaire's lips, smiling wide and certain and a little bit smug. "Keeping you for always."

Grantaire sighs a little in relief, knowing that at least things are well on their way to being mended, if not completely back to normal yet. This is the Enjolras he knows, possessive and smug and stubbornly, even arrogantly certain of the truth of his words. It's hot and familiar, settling something deep inside him. He wraps both arms around Enjolras and just holds on, pleased that despite the fact that they still need to talk at some point, their baseline has been reestablished and they'll have a solid footing to do it from.

It does trouble him though, what Enjolras is saying, the idea that all these nightmares that Grantaire has given him are leaving bloody ragged holes in him, stabbing him with every dream and every time Grantaire makes him talk about it. The idea that the last week or so has left him with so many that he couldn't even start to heal, even when Grantaire was home again.

He thinks that the fact Enjolras changed his mind about sex means that they _have_ started to heal, now, and he's not sure what he feels about that. Grantaire just being there and letting him hold on is part of it, he knows, but apparently part of it was Grantaire being angry on his behalf, wanting to rage at someone for letting things get this bad, and he still wants to, because even if the nightmares themselves were his fault, someone should have seen and stepped in and let him know, at least. Something. But they can talk about it later, it's not important now.

Right now what's important is this, here, this closeness and surety and peace.

Eventually Enjolras grumbles about the mess and pulls himself up, keeping a tight hold on Grantaire's hand and dragging him off to shower, which is better than last night since Grantaire isn't half asleep this time.

They take their time with that, too, hands stroking and caressing as they wash each other clean, kissing and revelling in the feeling of slick hot skin under their hands, the ease with which they slide against each other, evoking soft moans and contented sighs. The heat and closeness inevitably builds to the point of arousal, again, and Enjolras slips down to take Grantaire in his mouth, sucking expertly and just this side of teasing, drawing it out until Grantaire is nearly sobbing with need, hands fisted tightly in Enjolras' hair.

He cries out as he comes, sagging against the wall and breathing raggedly for a moment before tugging Enjolras up to kiss him, letting Enjolras devour his mouth, hot and hard and demanding as Grantaire wraps a hand around him and jerks him off with lazy confident strokes and a filthy twist of his wrist. It doesn't take long, Enjolras already being close and Grantaire knowing exactly how to make him fall apart this way, his hands sure and knowing and familiar.

They rinse themselves clean again and stay for a little longer beneath the warm spray, holding each other close, fingers gripping bruisingly tight here and there, deepening marks already left as Enjolras fastens his mouth on Grantaire's shoulder and then his neck, sucking hard until the skin blooms bright and red beneath his mouth.

Grantaire just moans and arches into it, relieved as it settles something else within him, these tangible marks of ownership on his skin. Enjolras normally never lets them fade, always makes sure there is one or two showing dark and vivid somewhere on Grantaire's body, preferably several and at least one somewhere that can be seen. He likes knowing that anyone looking at Grantaire will see that he belongs to someone, belongs to _him._

Once clean and dry it is nearly time for a late lunch, so they get dressed again, minimally, Enjolras in sweats and a soft, dark red t-shirt, Grantaire merely pulling on a pair of ripped jeans and not bothering with a shirt. Neither of them bothers with underwear, knowing they'll probably just be stripping each other's clothes off again before long.

Making lunch is easier, the comfortably interwoven movements a true relaxation now, not forced. Enjolras still touches frequently, maybe more than usual, but calmer, the bruised look in his eyes finally fading into a more familiar bright warmth. Grantaire knows it doesn't mean everything is completely fine again, but it's better, and he breathes a little easier, watching Enjolras with a soft, affectionate light in his eyes as they work, making soup and sandwiches, a light lunch after the large breakfast a few hours ago.

They take their lunch back in to the lounge and eat together on the sofa, sitting close together and touching as much as they can without being in danger of elbowing each other and spilling things while they eat. Grantaire sits with one leg folded under him, the other stretched out towards Enjolras, and Enjolras rests his own on top of it, crossing them comfortably at the ankle.

By the rules of crash day they are not allowed to turn on the tv, because the news and whatever else is going on can wait, but they put in a movie they've both been wanting to see, setting dishes aside once they finish eating and twining themselves more closely together.

Enjolras rests his head on Grantaire's shoulder again, that being his preferred position because it means he is surrounded with the scent of him, every breath he takes telegraphing _safe, home, peace. Mine._

Grantaire wraps an arm around him and hums contentedly in the back of his throat as he watches the movie with half his attention, the other half being absorbed in the warm weight of Enjolras against him, the hand resting on his stomach, smoothing absent caresses on his skin. He feels whole and grounded and safe, and is now fairly sure that Enjolras feels the same way, the tension they'd both had earlier canceled out by the reassuring comfort of reconnection.

They're okay, for now. It's not all fixed, but it's better, they're working _together_ now to start to heal, the damage at least acknowledged, not festering hidden and made worse by suppression. There's an ease now that means they're on the way back to normality, which is the purpose of these days to begin with. A time to heal the wrenching dislocation of disconnection as much as to recover physical strength after overworking.

And they are healing, despite the earlier fits and starts. As long as they just keep trying, they know they'll always end up here, warm and back together and whole again, in every way.

It's good. It's not perfect, but it's them, and it's exactly right. They sit quietly, not talking now, just watching the movie and soaking up the warmth and peace and tranquility of the moment, the ease and relaxation of a restored connection. They're close now, so close, woven back together on every level, tangled limbs and devoted hearts and harmony of souls, sinking into one another in relieved serenity.

As long as they have this, they can face whatever comes. Even the talk and possibly a fight that they still need to have - as long as this comes first, they can weather it. No storm is strong enough to shake this. Not anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'd give up forever to touch you, cause I know that you feel me somehow_   
>  _You're the closest to heaven that I've ever been an' I don't wanna go home right now_   
>  _And all I can taste is this moment, all I can breathe is your life_   
>  _When sooner or later it's over, I just don't want to miss you tonight_   
>  _And I don't want the world to see me, cause I don't think that they'd understand_   
>  _When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am_   
>  _I just want you to know who I am, I just want you to know who I am..._
> 
>  
> 
> _\-- Goo Goo Dolls - Iris_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not plan on this chapter going quite this way, it gave me some trouble because I was trying to make it go in a different direction, sorry for the long wait. Gave up eventually and let it be what it wanted, which is apparently a lethal amount of sap and fluff. You have been warned. XD

They spend a few hours stretched out on the sofa together, Enjolras lying mostly on top of Grantaire, head resting on his chest. The blond hair tickles his chin, but Grantaire doesn't mind, merely wrapping his arms around Enjolras' waist and holding him close, revelling in the feeling of the warm weight holding him down, pressed against him along the length of their bodies. The only thing that would make it better is more skin contact, but they're too lazy to move for the moment.

Grantaire drifts in and out of a light doze, and he's aware that Enjolras is sleeping too, rather more heavily, which makes him feel absurdly pleased with himself, as if he had something to do with it, as if he should be proud of the fact that Enjolras is sleeping on him. Well, it may not make sense, but he's proud of it anyway, Enjolras trusting him like that, wanting to be here, so close and comfortable like this.

And he's giving Enjolras something that he needs, a place where he feels safe enough to relax into sleep again, less afraid of the nightmares, a way to recharge and recover some of his lost hours of sleep. Neither of them is really in good shape after the last couple of weeks, but Grantaire is convinced by now that Enjolras is worse off than he is, so he has almost completely shifted into taking-care-of-Enjolras mode, though Enjolras doesn't let him get away with it entirely. Which is good, that's a good sign, it makes Grantaire worry less and he'll take it.

But still, when Enjolras wakes finally and they stir, eventually getting up to go and make something for dinner, he keeps his eyes open and watches Enjolras intently, not perhaps moreso than usual but more sharply, trying to see those things that Enjolras usually keeps hidden. The idea that Enjolras is taking all that guilt and fear and bitter responsibility on himself is exasperating, deeply frustrating, infuriating and makes a little horrified chill crawl up his spine, but nonetheless is somehow...strangely warming, deep inside.

Grantaire is a little bit ashamed of it, really, that little glow of warmth over the fact that Enjolras cares so much, wants to keep him so badly that he's trying to make the entire mess of their patchwork history all his fault, that he _feels_ like it's his responsibility, that it's on him if they break apart or to keep them together.

Grantaire shouldn't, and refuses to, let him take all that weight on his shoulders alone, but it still feels good, somewhere deep inside him in a small glad shameful way, that Enjolras wants to. He may possibly be overcompensating for that feeling, just a little bit.

"Let me," he says, insistently, taking over the bulk of the dinner preparations, a simple stir fry meal that doesn't require a great deal of effort on anyone's part.

"I'm fine," Enjolras tells him with a tinge of exasperation, tucking his arms around Grantaire's waist from behind and nuzzling the back of his neck, but he doesn't insist on doing more than Grantaire wants to let him.

He's not fine, Grantaire knows he's not fine, but as long as they're together and Grantaire can keep an eye on him and take care of him, it'll be okay.

"Just scramble those eggs," he grumbles, that being the task he's delegated to Enjolras for the moment. Nevertheless he is unable to resist leaning back into the embrace, sighing contentedly and relaxing for a moment before he gently pushes Enjolras away to get to work.

Enjolras smiles faintly, stealing a kiss before he lets him go. He doesn't think he needs taking care of, really, but it's rather adorable when Grantaire decides to try. When he's done with the eggs he doesn't bother arguing with Grantaire about letting him do something else, instead he just moves in behind him again, wrapping arms around his waist and resting his chin on Grantaire's shoulder to watch his hands move as he works.

It's soothing, watching those familiar, beloved hands cutting and slicing and mixing and stirring with deft, easy grace, as clever and capable at this as they are at anything else. He can feel Grantaire's body gradually relaxing into his hold by degrees, and figures it was a good call, to hold on like this instead of doing something else. He knows Grantaire is still worried about him, carrying some tension and unhappiness about the causes of the fight they are not-having, but Enjolras can feel a good chunk of it bleeding away as he stands wrapped around Grantaire until the meal is nearly ready.

Then he pulls away with a last soft kiss to the place just behind Grantaire's left ear, and goes to find place settings for both of them and put them out on the kitchen table. Grantaire brings over the food a moment later, and it smells amazing, simple though it is. They eat slowly, talking lazily back and forth, discussing recent books they've been reading and smiling fond, ridiculous smiles at each other, instantaneous and involuntary when their eyes meet, soft and affectionate.

It's more like one of their date nights than an ordinary meal at home, quietly relaxed and intimate, the atmosphere softly charged with a pleasant kind of tension, tingling with possibility, but then again it hasn't been an ordinary day. When their hands touch accidentally as they both reach for something at the same time, sparks flaring along nerve endings to send a shivery ripple of heat through each of them, they give in and simply fold their hands together, fingers wrapping in a warm, tight grip as they go back to eating one-handed.

It's all quite warm and pleasant and _perfect,_ an almost exhilarating relief after the rather messier kinds of tension earlier in the day. Those haven't entirely gone away, of course, but they are well banked for the moment, smouldering in forgotten corners as they focus on the always intense attraction between them, the easy comfort of taking time just to bask in it.

After dinner they draw it out a little further, Grantaire pulling on a shirt so they can walk down to the small garden behind their building, sitting side by side on the canopy swing tucked into one mostly secluded corner. They sit with their arms wrapped around each other, light and dark heads bent to rest their temples together, faces slightly tilted toward one another. Occasionally they push off gently with one foot or the other to set the swing rocking gently back and forth.

They don't bother talking, for the most part, sitting and rocking quietly in the warm, fragrant evening air as the sun slowly sets. Enjolras is content to simply have Grantaire pressed close against him, holding him and breathing together, feeling the pleasant tingle of heated tension wash through him, occasionally sparking into a shiver at a shift of weight or the touch of a hand.

For their free hands are slowly, lazily exploring, roaming gently over arms and shoulders, cupping a cheek, wrapping around the side or back of the neck, trailing down chest or side to rest on a knee, a thigh, before travelling back up. Every now and then their hands meet in the middle, and they pause to grip one another, or interlock their fingers, or simply place them palm to palm, resting softly against each other, mirrored and met and matched.

This last usually causes the heat to flare sharply enough to draw them into a kiss, Grantaire letting out a shaky, explosive little breath as he leans in to meet Enjolras' mouth, searing quiet fire through them both as they spend several long minutes sharing sweet, hungry, intoxicating kisses. At times like this, Grantaire is reminded again that he doesn't really miss alcohol that much, as long as he has this. This is truly better than any wine or liquor, heady and drugging and warm, so warm; it feels like safety and home and comfort at the same time as it feels thrilling and electric and free; it's like flying and falling and being caught all at once.

"I love you so much," he says, soft and fervent after one of these times, and Enjolras' hand wrapped around behind him tightens on his hip, gripping hard enough to bruise as Enjolras darts in to bite quick and fierce at his lower lip; taken together it means _mine_ and _I love you_ and _never let you go._ Grantaire hums in agreement, and their hands gentle again, moving slower and softer as they return to wandering, brushing sparks here and there on each other's skin.

When the sun finally sets Enjolras sighs, dragging himself upright and tugging Grantaire along with him, not willing to loosen his grip in the slightest. He wraps Grantaire up for a hug, holding him tight and kissing him again, deep and urgent and intense, feeling a surge of dark satisfaction as Grantaire melts against him and moans into the kiss, completely surrendering to the hot, demanding mouth on his own.

"Bedtime," Enjolras orders, faintly amused by the dazed look on his lover's face. It's Grantaire's turn to sigh, and he takes a last deep breath of the sweet scent of flowers all around them before they turn to head back inside, arms still twined around one another, heads bent close together.

Sometimes, Grantaire thinks, it feels like they are two halves of a single person, as if they should have been born so connected, like conjoined twins; or even more fanciful, like the legend of soulmates who once existed in a single body before a jealous or vengeful god cut them all in half. (Something like that, he doesn't remember the details.) This drive, this desperate need to get closer than close, to twine hearts and souls even as their bodies mesh, to be so deeply connected that neither of them is fully whole without the other by their side, just at hand, it must come from somewhere.

Enjolras tends to scoff at such fanciful theories if Grantaire ever brings them up, but Grantaire knows he feels it too. He can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, feel it in his touch; they belong, on a level too deep for words. They are a _them,_ an _us,_ a single unit much greater and better and stronger as a whole than either of them could be on their own. Hard as it has been to get here, where this potential is fully realised, Grantaire has never been so grateful that Enjolras refused to let him back out of it, to deny this to them both because he didn't feel worthy of being part of it.

He still doesn't know how him being part of it could possibly make sense, how he could possibly be good enough for Enjolras, but as Enjolras has pointed out to him many times, it's up to Enjolras to be the judge of that, and for whatever reason he wants Grantaire. Needs him, in fact, and somehow this thing they have, it works. Somehow his part of it makes Enjolras better and stronger in the whole. It is quite literally insane, and he no longer cares.

All he cares about now is being there, right there always, wherever and whenever and however Enjolras wants him. Taking care of Enjolras when he needs it, letting Enjolras take care of him when he feels the need to. Talking and listening and watching and sharing every damn thing, even the hard and ugly and stupid things. There's less of those, these days, and more often they have times like tonight, where everything is soft and warm and sweetly tense, full of possibility and desire.

Enjolras tugs him firmly up to their flat and drags him straight to the bedroom, pushing him down on the softness of their bed as Grantaire laughs breathlessly, a little giddy with the fizzing tingle of heat and light in his veins. Intoxication, he knows it well -- it feels like this. Exactly like this. He's drunk on Enjolras, and it feels amazing. Better than anything else, ever.

Their eager hands strip each other quickly, and if their earlier joining had been slow and reverent and careful, tonight it is all lightning and need and hunger, eager and fierce, raw passion building up hot and sharp and finally spilling over into bright shards of completion, bursting like fireworks behind their eyes. They groan nearly in unison and collapse against each other, well spent and deeply satisfied, the ever present hum of connection between them pulsing stronger now, nearly throbbing with the exhilarating release of tension, a relaxation and easing so deep it almost aches.

This is good and right and perfect, and the trouble still lingering in the corners it was banished to is muted now, washed out grey against the brightly coloured, brilliant surge of their recharged connection, humming through them in time with the beat of their hearts, _tha-thump, tha-thump, freedom-hope, relief-joy, peace-love, safety-home, tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump._

They fall asleep soon after, once they've cleaned up and curled back around each other, both of them weary from the emotional day and remaining sleep deficit from the last two weeks. It's Grantaire's turn to fall asleep lying half on top of Enjolras, head pillowed on his chest as their arms wrap each other close, skin to skin with their legs tangled together, one of Enjolras' hands sliding into Grantaire's soft curly hair, fingertips rubbing gently at the scalp.

Enjolras hums in quiet contentment as he drifts off to sleep, luxuriating in the warm, reassuring weight of Grantaire against and over and around him and for once, not fearing that any dark dreams will visit him this night. Surely, they wouldn't dare.

Nevertheless, one of his thumbs brushes absently over the scar on one of Grantaire's arms, a bit of additional subconscious reassurance. Grantaire is here, and he is safe, and he is not going anywhere.

" _J'promets, ange,"_ Grantaire slurs softly in response, half-asleep already, murmuring words of comfort without really being aware of it -- not needing to be, or to think, to know that touch requires a reply, instinctively reaching out to comfort and assure without thought. The last words are barely a whispered thread of sound as he slips fully into sleep.

" _'M y'rs...a'ways..._ " His voice dies beforethe end of the sentence, but Enjolras hears it anyway _._

_Love you._

"Always yours," Enjolras whispers back drowsily in agreement, nuzzling sleepily at his temple.

_I know._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Unfortunately for Enjolras, nightmares have a mind of their own at times. In spite of his certainty that none would dare interrupt his sleep on a night when he was feeling so relaxed and peaceful, happy for the first time in weeks, he found himself in the middle of one of his least favourites._

Unfortunately for Enjolras, nightmares have a mind of their own at times. In spite of his certainty that none would dare interrupt his sleep on a night when he was feeling so relaxed and peaceful, happy for the first time in weeks, he found himself in the middle of one of his least favourites. He was in a bar, and some kind of altercation was going down, though it was a little hazy exactly what was going on - and then there was a thud, everyone went silent, and the dream became clear and sharp as a knife.

He pushed his way forward and saw Grantaire on the floor with a stab wound in his side, and the slowly spreading pool of blood beneath him was large enough to make Enjolras feel ill. He shouted for help, for an ambulance, for anything as he dropped to his knees and tried to put pressure on the wound, his hands slick with blood in moments.

In real life, he had torn off his shirt and used it to staunch the bleeding, but in his dream it was just his hands, with Grantaire's blood leaking steadily out through his fingers. And in the dream, everyone around him just stood there staring blankly at him, ignoring his shouts for help, looking down at them like Grantaire was just so much trash on the floor, not even worth bothering with.

Enjolras screamed at their uncaring and even disdainful faces, cursing them and begging and pleading and cursing again, but they never moved. Help never came, and the ambulance never arrived. Grantaire bled out through his fingers and just gave him a faint, tired, affectionate smile as his eyes closed for the last time. The size of the bloodstain on the hardwood floor was truly sickening, and Enjolras felt nauseated and dizzy with disbelief and grief as he stared at it, then down at his hands, covered in it, and felt himself crumpling down, down, down...

And then he thrashed himself awake, went rigid and held his breath, at first not sure where he was or what was happening, then hoping he hadn't woken Grantaire.

Of course it had woken Grantaire. He jerked awake and rolled onto his side, already reaching out - carefully, in case Enjolras wasn't fully awake yet - and stared at him in the dark, wishing he could make out his face but too occupied to reach for the light. He needed both hands to reach out with careful, calming touches and gradually pull his lover into his arms.

Enjolras was stiff at first, almost fighting him, and then he collapsed, burrowing into Grantaire's neck and hanging on to him like a very determined octopus. Grantaire did his own octopus impression right back, wrapping around him as much as he could and rocking him a little, pressing kisses to his hair and murmuring soothing noises, wishing he knew what the hell was going on. Enjolras had never had a nightmare reaction this bad when Grantaire was here before.

"All right, _ange_?" he asked finally, rubbing Enjolras' back with a warm hand. The skin felt cold and clammy, and he kind of hated everything, but most of all himself right then. Enjolras had been having these nightmares for weeks while he was gone, dealing with them alone, and hadn't even been going to _tell_ him.

Enjolras mumbled something into his neck, and Grantaire decided to take that as a no, or at least a 'not yet'. 

"I've got you," he murmured instead, touching and kissing gently where he could reach, random soothing nonsense coming out of his mouth between kisses. "I'm right here, always."

Enjolras sighed finally and relaxed a bit, and Grantaire mostly relaxed too, feeling relieved if still concerned. And he really needed to know what that had been about.

"What was it, _ange_?" he asked softly. "What was it this time?"

Sighing again, Enjolras loosened his grip and rolled onto his back, rubbing at his face with his hands. He really didn't want to talk about it, but he'd kind of promised.

"The bar fight, that one time," he muttered, subdued. _The one where you almost died because someone said the wrong thing to me._ Or about him, he couldn't remember precisely what had caused Grantaire to want to punch someone in the face, but he tended to react badly when people insulted Enjolras or otherwise made themselves unpleasant to him.

Grantaire winced. He didn't remember a lot of that incident, himself - he'd gotten into a fight, the bastard had pulled a knife on him, and he had spent the rest of it bleeding and then waking up fuzzy in hospital. He did remember the fierce, desperate look on Enjolras' face as he'd demanded that Grantaire stay with him, and how white Enjolras had been when he woke up, how set and grim his face had been. The hollows under his eyes.

"I'm sorry, love," he murmured, reaching out to trace the curve of Enjolras' cheek, his jaw, soft and caressing. "I'm fine, I'm still here."

"You almost weren't," Enjolras whispered, turning back into him and holding on tight, wrapping him up in strong, determined arms. "You almost weren't."

Grantaire had nothing to say to that, so he merely burrowed in where Enjolras wanted him, pliant in the iron grip that made him feel warm inside in spite of himself. He determined to do something, like tomorrow, to make sure this never happened again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long hiatus, life has been super chaotic the last couple of years. But I am back to writing again, so here is a final short chapter for AIN, and the next part will pick up in a sequel fic instead of continuing this one indefinitely; this fic is now complete, and I'll be updating soon with the sequel.


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